Michael Deacon watches Tony Blair give evidence at the Leveson Inquiry - where
the former Prime Minister comes under attack from an intruder.

What a pity Cherie wasn’t there. Might have been fun to see her “do a Wendi” and give the intruder a chop to the windpipe. Bet she’s got a hell of a right hook on her.

Actually, though, she wouldn’t have needed to bother, because the man protesting against her husband was almost comically unthreatening. Unlike Rupert Murdoch’s assailant in Parliament last year, he didn’t even have a foam pie. Robert Jay QC was beginning a question when there was a commotion from the corridor behind Lord Leveson, and then a well-spoken voice blurted: “Excuse me, this man should be arrested for war crimes!”

Yes: “Excuse me.” That’s how we do protest in Britain. We may break into court and accuse a former Prime Minister of war crimes, but we never forget our manners. Heavens! We aren’t barbarians!

Tony Blair barely moved. He merely glanced up at the intruder with an air of mild interest, as if he, Mr Blair, were a headmaster, and the intruder a small boy who’d burst into his office to tell him the school hamster had fallen ill.

The intruder didn’t attack him physically; throughout his harangue (“JP Morgan… Iraq…”) he remained 10 feet away. Even his appearance had something vaguely apologetic about it. Floppy hair, chinos, white shirt. He looked like a librarian gone rogue. Not far off: we later learnt he was a middle-aged film-maker with a double-barrelled name.

The security guards were oddly slow to act. But eventually they ambled over and dragged the intruder out, and the session resumed.

Mr Blair was the latest witness at the Leveson Inquiry into press ethics. He seemed no more troubled by the questions than he was by the intruder. But that’s no surprise. Interrogating Mr Blair is like having a boxing match with a ballet dancer – every time you swing, he skips out of reach.

This was classic Blair. Apart from his skin (now an expensive-looking teak) and his hair (a Caesar-like silver), he hasn’t changed. “Look”, “yuh”, “frankly”, “y’know”, “let me make one thing absolutely clear”: he rolled out all the hits. He treated us to his range of expansive hand gestures (impressive, these – you can hardly see the wires). As he breezed out for a five-minute break, he flashed a smile at the public gallery, as though they were a cluster of fans who follow him everywhere.

Most Leveson witnesses talk defensively. Not Mr Blair. He spoke as if he were some top-flight management consultant, and Lord Leveson and Mr Jay were two hopeful young businessmen who’d come to seek the fruits of his wisdom.

Their questioning wasn’t exactly aggressive. For the most part they politely solicited his advice on what to do about the press. Whenever Mr Jay did bring up something awkward (Rebekah Brooks, say), Mr Blair would simply offer him a forgiving smile, and a “Look…”

Often Mr Blair’s answers meandered off into mini-lectures about his “programme of change for the country” as PM. Several times he reminded us he introduced the minimum wage. Oh, and as if you ever doubted it, he never authorised his underlings to badmouth his rivals. “I hate that kind of stuff. It’s the lowest form of politics.”